


Overload

by Killermanatee, Wians



Series: Something Real [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/pseuds/Killermanatee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wians/pseuds/Wians
Summary: Chris comes back to his quarters after a shitty day. Phil's had a shitty day too, things go downhill from there.
Relationships: Philip Boyce/Christopher Pike
Series: Something Real [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601890
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29
Collections: Star Trek Ships Advent Calender 2019





	1. Chapter 1

Doing half a shift with three bent ribs, a still healing nose and several bruises to his face has not been fun, but he couldn’t just lay down in Sickbay, while his bridge crew dealt with angry Klingons on their own. When he’s finally returning to their quarters, it’s almost midnight, his shift has again lasted close to 20 hours, and all he wants is a quick replicated meal and bed.

The quarters are dark when he enters, and he only orders the light to 10%, sure Phil is already sleeping and not wanting to wake him up. He’s a bit embarrassed by the grunt of pain he utters when he toes off his boots, his entire body feeling stiff and sore. It isn’t until he’s removed his rank badge and gone into the living space that he spots Phil sitting at the table in the dim light, and nearly jumps a mile.

“Fuck, you scared me, I thought you were sleeping!”

“No, I couldn’t,” Phil sounds weird, and Chris frowns at him.

“What’s up?”

“I’m putting in for a transfer. I can’t do this anymore.”

He might as well have slapped Chris across the face. “What?”

“I can’t. I’m done patching you up again and again, and seeing you put your life on the line two seconds later,” 

It’s too dark for Chris to see his expression properly, but the determination in his voice is clear. It feels like the air has been knocked out of him for the second time today. It is fucking ridiculous to stand here in the dark discussing thing like this. 

“Lights 100%,” he orders, and even as he blinks in the sudden blinding light, he goes on, “Phil, what the hell? You can’t be serious!”

Phil is sitting rigid in the chair, the padd in front of him on the table, a muscle working in his jaw, his eyes as cold and hard as Chris has ever seen them. “I am, I have to do it.”

Chris is exhausted, and really not in the mood for a fight. He snorts and looks away, bitterness welling up, a sour taste in his mouth. “And you didn’t tell me, you were just going to blindside me with this?”

“I am not blindsiding you, I am telling you I have made a decision.” Phil’s voice is low and dangerous.

Chris really wants to just sleep, but they’re sharing quarters, and right now he just wants to be away from Phil. “I’ll find an empty bed somewhere else.” He turns to leave.

“I am so tired of this self-sacrificing attitude,” Phil snaps behind him.

Anger quickly boils in Chris’ stomach and he turns to face him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?”

“What do you think it’s supposed to mean?” Phil snarls, getting up from his chair, arms crossed and starring Chris down. “I can’t keep caring and patching you up and then watch you walk directly out and injure yourself again, Chris, It’s the fifth time this month alone!”

There’s a hard, icy lump in the pit of Chris’ stomach, because this sounds like more than a transfer, this sounds like a break-up, and Chris cannot imagine losing Phil. The anger overshadows the fear and heartbreak for the moment, however. “It’s my damn job!” he snarls.

“It is not!” Phil’s voice rings in Chris’ ears as he yells. “It’s not your job, Chris, the other Captains never get injured, but you have some kind of saviour complex, and I am sick of it!”

“I don’t have a -” Chris begins furiously. 

“Oh don’t you deny it!” Phil snarls, “you love playing the hero, and you don’t give a fuck about how it makes me feel to see you half-dead time and time again!” It’s usually Chris getting the loudest, but he’s never seen Phil like this before.

There’s a part of Chris that's completely floored by how they’ve ended up in this kind of blow-out, but Phil’s words make his blood boil. “What the hell did you expect when you signed up for Starfleet? It’s not my fault that we are attacked by aliens every week!”

“What I expected? I expected you to be a bit responsible!” Phil bellows, “To not get hurt every day, you keep putting me in situations where I have to save your life, and you don’t care, do you?!”

Chris nails him with a glare. "Fucking stand up for yourself if you’re unhappy with what we have, maybe fucking talk to me. You accuse me of being self sacrificing but here you are, making yourself a martyr. If you don't want what I have to offer, then piss off!” 

“I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise just how far down on your priority list I am,” Phil’s voice is filled with scornful, cold rage, “we all know where your priorities lie. You are the most self-centred, arrogant bastard I’ve ever known!”

“You keep this to yourself for God knows how long, and then you come and throw all this shit in my face after I’ve come back from a twenty-hour, shitty shift in the middle of the night, you aren’t giving me a fucking chance of fixing it, you asshole!” 

“Oh, now the Pride of Starfleet needs it spelled out that his partner doesn’t like seeing him almost die every week?! Pull your head out of your ass!” Phil yells back. “I am through with your shit.” He takes a few steps, and for a brief, awful moment, Chris is scared that it’s about to get physical. But Phil only walks past him and out the door, leaving an empty silence behind.

Chris just about prevents himself from shouting something after him, but he doesn’t want the entire ship to be privy to the fight. He really hopes the soundproof is on. His blood is still boiling, and his stomach twisting unpleasantly. 

He undresses down to shirt and boxers and lies on his bed, tells himself to get used to the emptiness. 

  
  


After about an hour, he still hasn’t fallen asleep. The fight is replaying in his mind as he turns on his back to stare up at the dark ceiling. Space is where Chris first truly felt at home, right from when he was a small child, the desire to explore has burned in him. It’s been harder than he could ever imagine as a kid; hellish fights, gruesome bloodshred, losing crew members, losing friends, seeing people killed, being injured and tortured himself. But no matter the hardships, no matter the injuries to body and mind, he cannot imagine not being out here.

And he can’t imagine not having Phil with him. As much as Chris is a hardass, Phil has been his rock and support, friend and lover for as long as he’s had a ship posting. Not having Phil be his CMO is nothing to the thought of losing Phil as a partner. He breathes out shakily, the thought curling in his stomach, compressing his chest. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen Phil this furious, and he’s never been this furious at him. It’s clear it’s been killing him, and the build up frustration and hurt coupled with the exhaustion made it a bomb ready to go off for them both. 

Shit, he’s been an asshole tonight. He knows he can’t change who he is, but he also knows that he loves Phil, and that Phil deserves better than tonight.

He puts on a pair of sleeping pants and determinedly walks to the door, it can’t end like this. When he opens the door, Phil is standing outside, hand raised to the buzzer, and Chris stops in his tracks.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Phil says carefully. Shoulders a bit tense, but the cold anger is gone from his face, now he just looks exhausted. “Can I come in?” 

Chris can see he’s not the only one scared of having done irreparable damage as he steps aside, watching as Phil walks in to awkwardly stand beside one of the chairs by the coffee table. 

Chris follows Phil, hating how pale he looks, the deep age lines in his face, the tired sag of his shoulders. The icy fear is back in the pit of his stomach. “I am sorry I was such an ass,” he says gruffly.

“Me too, I’m sorry,” Phil says tiredly. Make-up sex is usually the go-to after a fight, but neither of them moves into the other’s personal space.

They both sit down in the chairs. Chris would really like some liquor for this conversation, but it seems too important. The room feels chilly, and Phil sits so far away. He can deal with space crises of all sorts, planets on the brink of war, the threat from the Klingons, and he also knows how to be in a relationship with Phil. But their fights have never been this serious before, never this vicious, he’s never had that level of rage and resentment directed at him from Phil. 

There’s never been this kind of tension between them. Phil’s decision still feels like a smack to the face, his cutting words still ring in his head, he doesn’t know what to do to not turn it into another fight.

Chris tiredly rubs his hand over his face and then through his hair, sighs, and grimaces at the twang of pain in his sore ribs. 

Finally, Phil speaks up, “Didn’t mean to blindside you, but I know something needs to be done, Chris.” 

Chris wants to say that Phil could have bloody well talked to him before, but he keeps it in, wanting to end this peacefully. 

“Okay,” he nods, wanting to make sure Phil gets he’s not going to be an ass about it, that he can see how wrecked Phil is. “Okay, maybe not serving together for a while is a good idea,” he can’t shake a feeling that they’re running from their issues.

“Yeah, there is a post back on Earth, in Starfleet Medical ICU…” 

“We’ll be separated for months or even years,” Chris can’t help argue, with none of the ferocity from earlier, voice a little rough, “fuck knows what that will do to us.” 

“Maybe it will save us from ripping each other’s heads off,” Phil says, just this side of not snapping. “Clearly this isn't working.” 

“Clearly,” Chris agrees. He hates how pale and tired Phil looks. These past months, or maybe even years, has really done a number on him, and Chris didn’t even realise it was so bad. “We don’t have any long-time mission ahead, you could be on Earth for a couple of years, and I’d still be in comm-range.”

“It’s not going to be that easy,” Phil says, looking away from Chris. “It’s going to be hard as fuck, and we both know it.”

Chris feels like something’s squeezing hard around his chest, It’s the second time today Phil has sounded like he actually wants to break up with him. “You don’t want to try?”

“Of course I do,” Phil says seriously, looking back at him, many conflicting emotions on his face, but Chris knows him well enough to know he’s sincere.

Chris nods, feeling the distance already between them.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days pass until Phil finally gets on the shuttle back to Earth. The air is cold between them, and they’ve not really been together much, Chris busying himself with work and Phil organising everything for his departure. 

It's not about avoiding each other, Chris keeps telling himself. But then Phil only submits his transfer request digitally. As CO Chris has to sign off on it and he fucking hates that responsibility. 

They also don’t sleep in the same room. Phil declared he couldn’t sleep next to Chris, and moved to guest quarters. Chris has done his best to tell himself that they both need to cool down, to have space. It doesn’t change the fact that the quarters they have shared for ten years feel like an oppressive void.

For the most part he’s still angry. Angry with Phil for jeopardizing their relationship, angry with Starfleet for separating them, angry with himself for not finding a better solution. He spends extra time in the gym, reorganises his workstation and makes sure he’s still on the bridge when Phil packs up what he is taking to Earth. 

Seeing the gaps on the shelves, the space in the closet, his toothbrush alone in its cup he can’t help but wonder if this is what the beginning of the end feels like. Phil has left just enough behind that his presence can still be felt and taken just enough to make it blatantly obvious that he’s gone. 

When it’s time for Phil’s departure, Chris walks with him to the shuttlebay, carrying one of Phil's bags. They both stay silent, even while their steps are still in sync.

The bay is suspiciously empty, and Chris wonders how much of that is thanks to Number One. By the open shuttle door Phil takes his bag back, puts it down, and pulls Chris into a hug. A little hesitant at first, Chris eventually relaxes for a moment, giving in to the familiarity of resting his cheek against Phil’s chest. He closes his eyes, trying his best to not be overwhelmed with how much he is going to miss Phil. 

He still doesn’t protest when Phil pulls away, and walks onto his shuttle.

It’s that night that sleeping becomes truly difficult. Having spent plenty of time apart in the last twenty-plus years and often enough having their shifts not match up, it isn’t as if they’ve never slept separately, but tonight Chris is twisting and turning, trying to fall asleep.

When he finally manages, he wakes up only a few hours later, and rolls over, expecting to curl up against Phil’s warm body, but finding Phil’s side of the bed cold and empty.

He wakes up properly, struck by the emptiness of the bed, spotting the hardcover paper copy of the fourth in a series of thrillers Phil swears is the best thing he’s ever read left on the nightstand. 

\---

Phil gets a position at Starfleet Medical, and Chris buries himself even more in work than usual, so they don’t get to talk all that much in the following five months. 

What little time they do have feels impersonal. They only talk about basic facts, like Phil’s new apartment, how things are at work, and Chris feels like their conversations are almost as detached as his reports to HQ. He is reminded once more why he never really liked vidcalls. 

“How was your day.”

“Good, yours?”

“Good.”

It’s maddening. A few times they’ve snapped at each other. One of those times was around two months after Phil left, and it was definitely Chris’ fault. He’d been bone tired, but not actually injured, and made the mistake of joking about it.

“I didn’t even end up in sickbay!”

“What, do you expect a medal?” Phil had snarled.

“God dammit, Phil, I am trying to lighten the mood a little!”

“By throwing in my face how you are suddenly able to not need surgery every other minute when I am not your CMO?”

Chris had been fuming, but chosen to end the conversation right then and there, before things got out of hand again. 

Realising he’d been an ass, he’d called Phil the next day and apologised. To be fair, they had been able to joke about it in the past, but Chris is aware it had been a dick move considering their fight. He misses being able to talk to Phil without having to think twice about every word he says.

\---

One evening, about a month later, Chris is sitting by himself in the mess hall, pushing his pasta around on the plate. Two tables down, Lieutenants Arlitt and Terre make doe-eyes at each other and are disgustingly in love.

No, that’s unfair. The Lieutenants are not engaging in PDA or anything that would justify his ire, but Terre laughs frequently at whatever Arlitt is saying, and the warm smiles and relaxed postures are unmistakable. Besides, he’s seen them steal a kiss or two in corridors. 

Chris misses Phil’s laugh, he misses sitting next to him at dinner, just relaxing together. He misses kissing and being kissed and not being so fucking alone all the time.

He sits at a table set for two, but except for Number One, he hasn’t had anyone to share infrequent meals with. Everyone is giving him a wide berth and considering his usual mood that’s probably for the best. 

The banter of the happy couple drifts over, while he wonders if his marriage is headed for the drain. A deep pang settles in his heart, as he returns his gaze to his plate, wondering if he isn’t kidding himself thinking he and Phil still even have a relationship.

His stomach turns and plunges into the belly of the ship, and he throws the rest of his dinner out.

\---

Chris manages to not get injured in a serious way for a while, but then, about five months after Phil left, he’s on an away mission on a Federation member planet when an attack by a criminal organization hits the town hall where the away team is hosted.

He wakes up in sickbay, his head feeling like it’s been split open, and his chest aching and burning with each beat of his heart. The room is dim, but it’s only late afternoon according to the chrono of the wall. Something on his biobed makes a soft beep. 

“You’ve got a concussion, Captain, and three broken ribs. None of your organs took any serious damage, but I need you to stay here for a day or two.” 

Chris just stares. His mind feels foggy, and for a moment, he tries to figure out why the hell Dr. Cayne is striding around Phil’s sickbay, wearing the badge with his CMO insignia on her uniform. 

Right. Phil is on Earth. Dr. Cayne is CMO now. 

That truth hits him harder than he expected it would. He is so used to Phil’s mixture of grumpy and caring that Cayne’s reserved professionalism is like getting a bucket of icy water thrown in his face. 

“Captain?” Cayne frowns, looking from him to the biobed readout and back again when Chris doesn’t respond.

Chris breaths, and winces because of the pain in his ribs. “Yeah, sorry… I am a bit...”

“Out of it? Yes I don’t blame you, sir. How is your…”

Chris answers a few more questions, and then the doctor leaves him alone in the room. Four dead, three Starfleet officers and one official from the planet, twenty wounded, and a large hole in the town hall. He knows Number One is handling the situation with her usual competence, but it doesn’t change the fact that there are three dead crewmen under his watch. 

Fuck, he misses Phil’s support. 

When he calls him the next day, Phil is supportive, listening intently and offering some loving words. But a slightly garbled and delayed com call is no fucking replacement for Phil being there.

\---

About four months later, nine months after Phil left, the Yorktown gets send halfway across the quadrant for a ‘have you heard of The Federation?’ visit to a newly contacted planet, and Chris is so busy he’s got almost no time for calls back home.

After spending two weeks on the planet, handling various hiccups, negotiating the terms for the planets’ membership of the Federation, the crew of the Yorktown gets a day off to rest. Chris decides to make use of the opportunity to go climbing.

He’s happy to be outdoors and to get use out of his climbing gear; breathing in the fresh air as he works himself into a sweat, climbing up the face of the mountain. He is completely alone out here, and unlike on board he actually enjoys the solitude, the freedom to do as he pleases, to just be himself for a moment, after months upon months of duty. 

He reaches the top of the climb just after lunch. The sun is high on the clear, blue sky, bathing the cliffs and the surrounding mountains in sunlight. He sits on the summit, looking down over the purple and green forest below. He is sweaty, his heart is still pounding, but he feels more relaxed than he has in months.

Phil would love the view from this vantage point, he thinks suddenly, looking out to the horizon, over miles of forest, and a glimpse of a great lake beyond. Phil normally appreciates more calm hiking over fast climbs, but he’d love this view. He has to tell him about this. 

Chris breathes out heavily and drinks some water, the happiness in his chest replaced by a ache below his heart. Well if Phil hadn’t jumped ship, he could have been here with him. He knows Phil has been pushed beyond his limits, and he can understand why he is upset, but he’s also feeling like he has been the only one trying to mend this relationship for the past year. 

He snorts, swallows some more water, and begins the down climb

\---

The week after, once they’re finally wrapping up their stay on the planet, Chris sits on a barstool, a drink that tastes vaguely like Earth whisky in hand and looks out at the skyline. The rest of his crew is strewn about in the city somewhere, and Chris has accepted the offer of joining the small team of officials from the planet he’s been working closest with for dinner. 

The food has been all right, and after dinner they filtered off in groups. Chris went to the bar for a drink. A man sits a few seats away, lean, well-trained, and younger than Chris. After making subtle eye-contact for a while, he comes over, introduces himself and sits next to him. Chris readily starts a conversation, returning the appreciative and inviting looks. 

It’s been so damn long since he’s had a chance to flirt with anyone, had the time to smile and laugh with someone who he isn’t working with, and even so, aware of his position as CO, there is only so much socializing that is appropriate with anyone who is not One or Phil. It feels like he hasn’t been himself in months.

Phil, who’s all the way back on Earth, who he’s not had the chance to talk to in three weeks.

Chris knows that he’s at least fifteen years the man’s senior, but it doesn’t matter because he listens curiously to his tales, laughs at the right moments, sends Chris these looks that warm him up so much more than the alcohol he’s consumed. It’s not empty praise and adoring looks either, he’s snarky as hell, and argumentative; a challenge. Chris loves a challenge. 

Chris laughs when the stranger tells him dirty jokes, leaned over, gaze direct, boring into Chris, while long, elegant fingers circle the edge of his glass of vodka soda.

They throw themselves into another topic, Chris’ eyes are drawn to the other’s face, his mouth, the way his fingers move. 

It’s been years since Chris has made use of his and Phil’s open relationship on his own, and after a couple of more drinks, Chris thinks ‘what the hell’. He drains his glass, and turns towards the other man, his mind made up.

They end up in Chris’ hotel room. He’s missed the sensation of naked skin against his own, of a mouth on his, of nipping teeth and exploring touches.

But it’s Phil he thinks about when he closes his eyes and allows the other to take control over the kiss; when hands wrap around his cock, when he’s backed into the wall and later onto the bed. It’s a good shag, both of them know what they are doing, and both of them orgasm. 

But he misses Phil’s large, solid hands on him, the way he knows just how to push him to where he needs it. Phil’s filthy dirty talk. Phil nailing him to the bed, rough and hard and merciless, yet knowing exactly where to stop, where to be gentle, how to give him what he needs. He misses Phil’s warm body next to him in bed, the gentle snoring. He even misses that fucking beard he hated in the beginning.

Alone in the bed later, he stares up at the ceiling, his body is satisfied, but there’s a hollow feeling in his guts, and the bed feels so fucking empty. 

Chris grunts in annoyance and turns around, unable to get comfortable, and unable to sleep. 

\---

Two days after they are all back on the Yorktown, at warp towards their next assignment, when Chris for the life of him cannot find a padd that he really needs. Rummaging around his ready room, his desk, and the living room in his quarters yields no results. He finally finds it in the drawer of his bedside table, remembering he’s been reading on it in a fit of insomnia.

When he picks up the padd, his hand brushes against something small and hard, lying along the back of the drawer. Curious what he’s forgotten in there he pulls out the object. 

It’s the little wooden horse Phil carved for him on their first shore leave off the Yorktown. 

Chris sits back onto the bed, brushing his finger over the polished wood, torn between melancholy and fond remembrance. 

It honestly doesn’t look all that much like a horse, but he loves it because Phil made it for him. Phil spent so much time on it, struggling with his first attempt at woodwork. That weekend seems like a lifetime ago, and still, when Chris closes his eyes he’s right back on the beach. He can hear the waves and feel the sand under his feet, the sun on his skin. Most of all he can see Phil sitting at his right, focused on his carving. Phil, who’s kind and loving and smart and beautiful and so fucking far away.

Chris is glad he’s sitting because the force with which he misses Phil hits him so hard, his chest aches, all the air pushed from his lungs. 

He doesn’t want to lose him, and the past year has done nothing to improve their relationship. He loves being in space, it is just not been the same without them sharing the adventure, the meals, the same quarters. Without sharing their life. 

The Yorktown is not scheduled to return to Earth for another five months, and as Chris sits there he knows he can’t wait that long.

  
  
  



End file.
